When You Are Different
by thatdragonchic
Summary: Hayton (Hiccup) Haddock, Autistic AU. What's up is a preview, a little look into Hiccup entering college, but he has autism and doesn't know how to adjust. But just because he's different, doesn't mean he isn't brilliant. Rated T for caution
1. preview

_**I really wanted to do an Autistic Hiccup Au because we're learning about it in health and watching a movie about autism and wow okay I feel like I did okay. I used what I know about it and what we saw in the movie to portray Hiccup. I just wanted him to be a bit of genius of sorts but he acted differently and he knows he does. I included Jay. **_

_**This is a quick draft. Consider this a sneak preview, if anybody likes this and wants me to continue, I would actually love to elaborate a little more, I'd totally do it. I just want to see how you react to this, first. **_

Hayton balled himself up in his dorm, shaking. He didn't like this. Everybody looked at him weird. And he didn't want to do this, he wanted to paint and create machines. He wanted to invent. He wanted to draw. He didn't like this. He glanced up from where he was balled up, looking out the window. It was still early, classes don't start today. They start tomorrow.

Mom said he'd get a roommate, just like everybody else but he wasn't sure of it. He wasn't sure about it. What if they didn't like him? He didn't think they would. _When you're different, people don't understand. _

Slowly, Hayton looked up at the empty wall over one of the beds. His mind flashed to his bedroom, the wall matching to the picture in his mind. A portrait, a drawing. Colors, he could use colors. Colors were nice, colors were meaningful, colors were everywhere. This wall was bright white. It would look nice with green and purple. Did he have his green and purple pencils? He did.

Shaky hands roughly pulled his bag of art stuff over, opening it and unzipping one compartment. If things weren't in order, he would have a breakdown. He needed everything to be black and white, in front of him. Purple and Green, his favorite pair of contrasting colors. He liked purple and green. They were calming. So he took the box of purple and green pencils, going over to the bed, crawling on and standing on the bed, opening the box of pencils.

His hands traced over the pencils before picking one and starting to trace lines on the wall. He switched between shades of purple, green and even added some blue. He drew a girl, decked in jewlery, her dress taking up the size of the bed. His hands smeared some lines, his pencils moved in strokes across the wall as he focused. His pupils had dilated as he focused in, kind of like a dragon sneaking in on its pray.

Hayton, of course, heard the door open, dropping the pencil from his hand. "Who are you?" he snapped, quickly, nervously, standing up on the floor, and off the bed.

"Uhh I'm Jay, Jay Parker," the other boy introduced, before looking over the boys shoulder, eyes widening at the picture behind him. "Did you draw that? Like right now?" He asked, brushing past him, making Hayton jump back.

"Don't touch me," he informed. "I don't like to be touched."

"Sorry…" Jay said, a bit estranged. "Did you draw this?" he repeated and he watched as Hayton nodded slowly. "Its amazing… what are you doing majoring in physics and science?"

"I like to build. I-I invent things," he stammered, wringing his hands.

"You're not good with people, are you?"

"People are strange and loud and… I don't like people," he concluded, his voice shaky as he went to his bed to place the pencils neatly back into the box. Jay glanced at the desk, a paper on the desk. _'if you have a roommate, and I'm sure you will let them read this.' _And inside, all it said was _'Hayton is autistic but just because he is different, does not mean he isn't wonderful. Give him a chance.' _Jay smiled a bit, looking at the other boy, feverishly trying to organize the colors into their boxes.

"Finish it… the picture. I like it."

"I… I don't like people watching me draw."

"I'm Jay."

"You told me," he said. "I'm not stupid," he snipped, seeing the letter in his hands.

"I know.. I just didn't think you were listening. What's your name?"

"Its on the paper."

"I want you to tell me."

"Hayton," he said, memorizing Jay's face, closing his eyes and letting the memory of it come in pictures. Hayton thought in pictures, he only looked at things once and he remembered them, he knew them. It was wonderful but sometimes he wondered… how do other people think if not in pictures like himself? Why can't they do that? Hayton opened his eyes and looked at the other boy, putting his bag down.

"Can we be friends, Hayton?" Jay asked, not wanting to be rude. In reality, Jay wanted to work with children, and he knew Hayton wasn't a child but he requested this room because he wanted to get to know somebody different. _When you're different, you are special. _Or to Jay you were. He wanted somebody like Hayton because he had faith that somebody like him would be a good friend, unlike any other's he'd had. He wanted to be friends with somebody just a little different and he wanted to help. Hayton must be lonely, but he didn't mind.

"I don't know if I like you yet," Hayton replied, glaring at the disorder the other boy presented. "I don't think I like you, you're like the other boys. Very messy."

"I'm not normally like that, its just because I haven't settled down yet."

"Good. I don't like messes."

"Neither do I." Jay looked back at the picture. "Will you finish it later?"

"If you don't stop asking about it, I won't finish it," he retorted. Jay unzipped his bag, Hayton shutting his eyes tight. He didn't like that sound, that sound hurt his ears. It was like a loud squeaking. Jay noticed this and blinked a bit. This might be a bit harder than he thought… he knew Hayton was said to be quiet and a bit different, but he didn't think people were avoiding bunking with him because he was autistic. He just wanted to give the kid a friend, but perhaps it can't be that bad.

"I won't ask about it again."

"Thank you."

"I like you."

"really?"

"Really. Do most people not?"

"They think I'm crazy… or weird. I'm not like the others."

"You're like everybody else, if anything, even better. Nobody I know can draw like that."

"When your different, people don't care how good you draw or how great you create things," Hayton said, shrugging insecurely. His speech was a bit slurred and he had a delusion to his eyes, like he was just taking everything in. "People don't care because I'm not like you."


	2. Chapter 1

"Hayton, look at me," his father ordered, turning the small childs head to look at him and the board he was holding. The childs head instantly turned away to go back to staring at the cat. "_Hayton, _darling, you need to learn how to speak." He turned the child's head to face him again, Hayton blinked at him before turning to look back at the kitten on the floor.

Valka walked in, drying her hands from washing dishes as she watched him. His eyes were focused on the cat, mesmerized by its movements and stretching. "If only we could know what he's thinkin' about…" Valka muttered, settling on the lap of her husband and watching the child. "You can see the wheels turning."

"Kih," the little boy spoke up. Both his parents looked at him estranged and he pointed at the cat. "_Kih." _

"Yes! Its a kitty!" His mother chirped excitedly, her dress settling over her knees as she fell to the ground before her son. "Do you like the kitty?" She asked and he nodded. He repeated the syllable and his father watched estranged. The boy took the notebook beside his father and picked up the pen (holding it improperly in that way that young children do) and drew a head with two triangle ears.

He repeated the sound that was similar to 'kitten' and went over to the cat, settling beside it. The small thing snuggled up against him and he giggled. They'd only recently gotten it, thought Hayton had been scared of it. He would scream when it tried touching him or when it sat next to him on the couch. He wasn't familiar with the small thing. But now he was okay, he was calm and quiet.

Hayton's eyes widened as he watched the rallies. "Why momma?" he asked, pointing to the television, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his hands over his ears as she shut off the television, a high static noise emitting from it.. "Why?" He still wasn't the best with speech, but he understood enough to communicate. He didn't like other children, he didn't like hugs from his mother, and he spooked at little things.

"Because the world is cruel place my dear child," she kissed his head and smiled. "The year is 1964, you'd think it'd all be over now." He looked at her confused before rubbing where she kissed his head. What was going on that had caused all this chaos. He went to his room and being the little seven year old he was, he drew like he normally did, though he wasn't great quite yet.

Hayton went upstairs to his room, approaching it when he suddenly didn't recognize any of the doors. The sign that he normally kept on his door had blown off, his eyes widening at the sight. His breath increased as he slowly approached the kitchen. He could hear the help working in the bathroom as he opened the door, his eyes dilating, his breath increasing.

A black sheet hung on the coat rack, waiting to be put later after fully dried. Hayton saw it and screamed, dashing downstairs, yelling and crying. _Black figures in the dark. Black shadows. Black capes. The ghosts that lingered. Dark, black, transparent like the cloth. _

Valka's attention immediately turned away from the cooking and ran to the door where Hayton. She caught him just before he could run off the front porch. "Hay! Hayton darling come back!" She yelled, pulling him away from the door, holding him in his arms. She could see the neighbors across the street, the ones with the perfect little boy who got straight A's scoffing as she tried to calm her child. She got a bitter look but only for a moment.

"No! Let me go! Let me go!" He yelled, trying to break off her hold. "Don't touch me!" He yelled. "Let me go!" He yelled, trying to push her away. She tried hushing him, trying to give him the comfort he deserved, the chance to calm down in the arms of his mommy but he refused. "STOP! NO!" He yelled, breaking from her grasp and running off down the porch and going to sit between two bushes. He sat there, feeling the caress of leaves as he continued to cry, his screams quieting down.

Valka sighed, the black maid that worked for them coming downstairs and putting her hand on the other womans shoulder. Valka rested her head on the ladies shoulder. "What am I going to do, Mathilde?" She whispered, almost in tears. "My baby doesn't love me…"

"He loves you tons, honey. He just don't know how to show it yet. He's different kind of boy, he don't like that kind of affection. But he your baby, he loves you both very much. This comes from the woman who watched you have him and who watches you raise him until nine o'clock every night."

"Thank you, Mathilde… thank you for staying."

Now thirteen, Hayton sat in the kitchen, crying as his father scolded him about schoolwork, about how he needed to focus and his mother was trying to defend him. He didn't like all the yelling. He didn't want to yell. All he heard was muddled sound and nothing else seemed to process. He could feel his chest cavity tightening, his hands shaking.

"_STOP IT!" _he yelled. "Stop please," he repeated, a bit softer as he rocked, holding his head. His heart was beating entirely too fast and he felt like he couldn't breathe. His parents turned to look at him, heartbroken looks crossing both faces. How do you help a child that seems unfixable? His autism made him different, he was so hard to help and yelling never made anything better, fighting over him made him break down like this.

"J-just do your best son, it'll be okay," Stoick tried, but he knew at this point it was much too late to undo the wracked mind of the boy. Valka struggled before settling that maybe a hug would help, her lightly placing a hand on his shoulder, but he snapped at her.

"Don't _touch _me!" He pulled away, curling into himself, pushing the chair back and hugging his body and folding himself against his knees. "Don't touch me…" he whispered, repeating the three words like a mantra. He didn't stop saying it until he'd fully calmed down after an hour.

After that hour, he doesn't say anything but goes outside. He sits in the rose bushes, just like when he was seven. He's not crying but he's shaking. He's still having trouble breathing and he wants to scream. He doesn't like feeling so claustrophobic. Why can't he be like other kids? like the perfect boy across the streets?

Hayton leans back and starts to take deep breaths, watching the leaves blow. He memorized them, closing his eyes and remembering that tree every season for every year of his life he could remember. He looks up at the tree and sighs, his eyes tearing up again. He doesn't like crying, why does he freak out like this so much? _Because I'm just that. A freak like everybody says I am. _

**_Next chapter will probably be based on hiccup in junior high_**


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter two and probably chapter three in possibly another hour~ Eat your hearts out shippers**_

Eyes shut tight, hands feeling for the pencil before picking it up and placing it to what he was sure was paper. He didn't let his eyes open, he kept them shut, remembering the way the tree looked last night and began to move his hand across the paper, feeling the motion of the tree, drawing every detail he remembered. He wasn't entirely sure what was happening on the paper but he'd hoped it was something of the tree he'd been looking at for a few hours last night.

He could feel the pencil smearing along his hands and his mind lit up, dropping the pencil. He simple just started smearing the paper, thinking of the wave the blurry wave of the trees between his tears and between the wind that blew around them. He just kept doing things, perfecting it until he felt that the picture was done, just about thirty minutes later. He opened his eyes to look at the large notebook paper, blinking at the tree that was blurred and rounded and imperfect. It looked a lot like himself, cracked at the edges, a blurry imperfect mess.

But he liked it. He liked looking at it. Nobody else painted like that… drew like that. It wasn't like anything else and he liked it. Perhaps he didn't feel the same about himself, being thirteen, things were starting to change and they weren't necessarily kids anymore. Things were different. The boys were becoming less interested in veering from the girls and they seemed to be changing, he was changing. Hayton hated change, didn't understand it and didn't really want to.

"Hayton- valhalla above, what is this?" His father asked, miffed and amazed by the drawing on the floor.

"I drew it," Hayton scoffed, rubbing his arm a bit. He wrung his hands and looked over at him. "I wanted to draw something, and so I drew it with my eyes closed and made a picture on paper."

"You're expressing yourself?! That's a change." His father beamed, happy that boy was finally doing something that didn't bottle his emotions. Perhaps it'd calm him.

"I don't like change… but I guess this is different."

So that change, we were talking about? Now he's fifteen, walking into sophomore year. Hayton walked in, a plaid shirt buttoned up and some skinny jeans with a leather belt completing it with nice black dress shoes. He walked down the hall, gripping his backpack, the voices of others swirling around his head, echoing in his brain.

"Did you see suzy? She looks _great!" _

"I got a scholarship to gradford!"

It was all so strange, and the way the boys talked about the girls… why? Who cares what the girls looked like or how short their skirts were? Who cares if they had shirts a bit tighter? Hayton just didn't understand it as he maneuvered through the halls and some girls were whispering about the boys… what did they see in the boys? What was this _attraction _going on?

He sighed and shook his head, lips pursing a bit as he unlocked his new locker and put three things in there, a binder, a new case of art pencils, his sketchbook. That's all he needed in there. That's all he'd ever need in there, besides space for his coat in the winter.

Taller, he grew taller and he gained a bit more muscle mass, a sharper jaw. He was still fifteen, and his brain didn't completely comprehend the change in himself. He looked different. "This isn't me," he concluded to his parents. "I don't look like that."

"You grew… ah puberty. Its when you start to feel love towards people and grow up," Stoick explained and Hayton's eyebrows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"You… start to love people-"

"I hate people. People are weird and the boys talk about weird things, like how short girls skirts are or sports. Who cares if you've tackled some other guy for a ball? Its stupid. people are stupid, I will never like people."


	4. Chapter 3

_**Filler chapter~**_

"_What a freak," _he could hear those older boys say, the ones who played sports and even the younger ones looked at him weird. He didn't like it, the way it made him feel bad. It made his heart race in a bad way, it made his palms sweaty and his body wanted to curl up in his corner in the bushes.

But he couldn't do that at school, he was just sitting in a classroom with no choice but to take it. "_Gonna say something retard?" _

"I-I'm not stupid," he muttered, glancing at the clock. Teacher was five minutes late. The boys smirked and he didn't like that look.

"What was that?" One boy in a red school shirt asked, standing up against him. Hayton locked his jaw and turned away, his breathing increased. He glanced at him, mind flashing with every movie he ever saw with the bigger guy standing against the smaller one or the smarter, weaker one. "Hey! Speak up!" He yelled into his ear, slapping his head.

"Don't hit him! You'll only make him more stupid," one girl chipped in from behind him, the class laughing, his repulsing from the touch.

"**I'm not stupid!" **Hayton shouted, the boy shoving him off the chair as the teacher walked in, looking around.

"What is going on here?" the teacher asked, Hayton pulling himself up and dusting himself off.

"I was just reaching for something, I didn't mean to shove him off."

"That-" Hayton tried and the teacher cut him off, not willing to listen.

"Are you okay?" the teacher asked Hayton. Hayton glanced around, everybody's eyes judging and watching. He shook his head, grabbing his bag and leaving, sprinting out the door and going down to the art room. He slammed the door shut and the art teacher looked up from the class, giving him a look.

"What's the matter?" She asked, her freshman class giving him weird looks. He looked panicked and his hands were shaking, as if he were about to burst into tears.

"They keep making fun of me!" He yelled. "he pushed me off a chair… Why do they keep calling me that?" he asked, sitting at the empty table in the front, grabbing his sketch pad and opening the book. He could feel the judgement on him but also the sympathetic looks. One girl was whispering to her snickering friends and they stopped laughing. He had to wonder what she said… perhaps she just felt bad like some do.

The teacher looked at him sympathetically, smiling a bit. There was no room to say anything, his hand running across the page already. He was focused in as he'd started drawing, eyes closing as his hand moved across the page. He saw a little girl, pouting on the floor and started to draw, form of face, form of body. He opened his eyes erasing his outlines and starting on the actual bodice and anatomy, following his erase marks. Mrs. Krista Bellsein, as well as her students just kind of watched him work for a moment before she lead them back to the lesson on Van Gogh and why he was so important.

"How was school today?" His mother asked, Hayton sitting beside her in the blue car with nice leather seats.

"School was good," he said on impulse, it was always his reply. He didn't know what else to say most times. "I drew a picture."

"When was this?"

"Third period, in the art room. I didn't want to stay in math."

"You can't choose not to-"

"The teacher was late and they were making fun of me- made me feel bad so I left."

"What did they say?"

"Nothing. I left." Hayton stopped talking after that, Valka sighing softly. Of course he wasn't going to tell her, of course he was going to keep away from her. He always did…


End file.
